


chronicles of a delancey

by enbypanda



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Everyone Is Gay, M/M, Morris is Genderqueer, Other, Post-Newises Strike
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25546768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enbypanda/pseuds/enbypanda
Summary: Welcome to the first installment of Chronicles of a Delancey! It's a series of works I had on Google Docs now realesed here on Archive of Our Own!
Relationships: Morris Delancey & Oscar Delancey
Kudos: 5
Collections: Chroncles of a Delancey





	chronicles of a delancey

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the first installment of Chronicles of a Delancey! It's a series of works I had on Google Docs now realesed here on Archive of Our Own!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Morris meets a certain newsboy strike leader in an art supply shop.

**5:30 A.M**

South of Houston, otherwise SoHo is a small area. It's mostly farmland but it's not far from The World Headquarters and Distribution Center. 

A short brunette is seen walking to the local art shop. His olive green skirt follows the wind, as they pulled out a small, worn out leatherbound notebook from his apron.

It's important to note that he loves walking around whenever he gets the chance, whether it's window shopping at items they can't afford or listening to the faint street music. 

He finds content here, no wonder why they never left their hometown.   
Or at least, stop by ever since...

A bell jingles. 

"Morning Morgan!" Greeted Luke, the owner.   
"Morris." He corrected. Since when did he work here this early?

Morris just made himself wear this costume of his. What he was "supposed to be."  
He looks at his reflection in the small mirror, twrilling the French dupes and having a side bang let loose.   
He doesn't see himself.   
That's why it's a costume. 

"The usual today?" The cashier asked, packing in the canvas rolls and fountain pen ink replacements. 

He nodded, looking over at the paint palletes.   
"Trying something new today," he forced a smile. "Maybe I can try writing with acrylic paints? As opposed to just ink."

"Ooo, that's new. But I dunno, sweetheart-"

Morris rolled his eyes as he picked out some basic colors, black and grey, and a navy blue since that was on the list. No need to grab the ink glasses.   
"I'll try it at Medda's today." He set down the pallete cards over the counter, but discriminating art man already had the buckets ready. 

"All set. $15 in total. You sure you don't need help, lass?" Luke offered.   
Morris slipped out the banknotes out of a pink envelope, handing it over. 

"I got it, thanks for the offer though." He held two buckets on his left hand, and the navy blue on his right. Slung over his right arm is a weaved tote bag with the canvas rolls and fountain ink replacements, with his large leather bag. 

Yeah, he totally got it.

"Hey there, miss?"

Morris glanced up to meet the man himself, sporting his famous smokey blue shirt and grey newsboy hat. 

Seriously, where does he get his shirts?

The blue shirt man chuckled. "I got called over here from Medda, saying to pick up paints." He pointed at the paint buckets. "Overheard you did too, and looks like you beat me to it. Need a hand?"

Morris, stood there dumbfounded.   
Medda didn't warn him about this  
actually, it feels like she set this up. It's such a good thing Morris wasn't...well, Morris. He did his hair (Thanks Katherine,) and he wore a skirt. All because of hisnanxiousness that Jack would find the truth behind everything.  
But he didn't have time to ponder over this as he shook his head.

"No, I have all under control-"  
"Oh, where's my manners? The name's Jack Kelly." He introduced. "Morgan, right?" 

'Morgan' nodded, backing up to leave to open the door.   
"It's alright, I got it under control."  
'She' repeated, but it came out as a mumble.

Abort. Abort. Abort. 

"Hey wait up, I got it." Jack brushed his hand over the doorknob with 'Morgan's'

'Morgan' immediately let go, flushing a light pink on 'her' cheeks and nose.  
"Thanks." 'She' stumbled out back onto the streets, the fresh air taking over the smell of paint chemicals. 

"'Course," Jack smiled. "May I take both of them?"

_"If it will make you shut up, sure."_   
_Is what Morris would say._

"Yes, of course. Thank you so much." 'She' said as sweetly 'she' could, giving him both the monotone colored buckets. 

It was diffcult to switch between going to a higher pitch or more feminine if all of Morris' teenage years consisted of perfecting it to his pleasing. 

The Bowery isn't much of a hike, yet it's enough to make conversation for these two teens. 

"I never seen you around these parts. You just started working for Medda or...?"

'Morgan' shook 'her' head.   
"I worked for Medda for awhile and I live with my pops in SoHo. At the Bowery for 2 years, I presume." 

Morris lied about her father, for that they both were gone a long time ago. Never got to see his face, along with his mother's. 

"I just made posters and write pretty til' I picked up painting." 'She' added on. 

"Oh, so you're the one with the fancy writing!" Jack exclaimed, which was enough to make 'Morgan' chuckle. 

"Yup. That's me."  
"Woah." Jack said in awe.

The sun shined on Delancey Street. 

"I actually was inspired by your set pieces to start out painting. I mean, I already started out with sketching - I didn't see it would hurt."   
'Morgan rubbed 'her' free hand behind 'her' neck.

"Gee, I'm flattered." Jack chuckled. "We budding artists should work together one day."

Jack put the grey paint bucket down to hold the stagedoor for Morgan. 'She' smiled, holding the door from the other side. "Yeah, we should."

Both of the teens descended down the wooden staircase to the backstage of The Bowery Theater.

"Ah, good morning Jack! And...Morgan?"


End file.
